Hourglass
by diciassete
Summary: 'Give me time, Ísland… Maybe…maybe one day I could feel the same way...' / Alternate-universe where the countries go to World Academy, Denmark suggests that the Nordic countries go as well, Iceland is given his greatest freezing hell, and maybe, just maybe, Norway might eventually reciprocate those feelings. NorIce
1. 0: P L A N E R I D E T O H E L L

**Hi everyone! I'm new to the fandom - **so far all I've written is for Vampire Knight, so I hope you like my introduction into Hetalia! I might not be historically accurate, since half of the shit on here pops right into my brain, like Denmark being good friends with Netherlands. (if that's true, then yay!) It struck me a while that I really, really liked the Norway/Iceland pairing, so I hope you like this introduction! It will, in fact, be 'school-life.' A lot of people refer to it as... 'gakuen?' I think that's the Japanese word for academy.

**Anyway, read on!**

**Please drop a review at the end and tell me what you thought!**

* * *

Another day in August and Iceland thought it couldn't possibly be worse that he was on a plane with the last person he wanted to be on a plane with. Along with four other people that he didn't feel so positive about being on a plane with either. Iceland laid his head against the window, staring at the passing green fields, the grass waving bye to him, regretting that fact that he couldn't linger to look at them a while more.

He rested his hand against the armrest of the seat, trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the past four months. _When had everything gotten so tangled?_ he asked himself. He didn't even realize how deeply he had fallen in love with _that person_, until the one day he said 'I love you' and found that he sincerely meant it—and he had been _drunk_.

Then, confessing to _that person_ that Iceland loved him, was _in love with him_, had been the worst day of the year. The week to follow after that especial day, June 17th, Iceland's very birthday, was particularly awkward until _that person_ came along and told him softly, "Give me time, _Ísland_… Maybe…maybe one day I could feel the same way…" which was obviously code for, "Let's never bring this up again and go back to normal, shall we?"

Iceland wanted to bang his head against the plane window now, but he resisted his self-harming urge and leaned back against the seat as well, letting a small sigh escape his lips. Across the aisle, on row 46D, Berwald and Finland sat together, with Finland one-sidedly engaging the other into a hopeless conversation about naming a dog as soon as they got one, once they all reached World Academy.

Now that Iceland thought about it, going to school was stupid. Beyond so. Why would countries need to go to school? And if so, why couldn't they go to schools in their own countries? He rolled his eyes and wondered who came up with such an idiotic proposition to go to _school_. And he abruptly remembered. Denmark.

Of course it would have been Denmark. Denmark would be able to see his friend Netherlands again, though it shouldn't have been so hard since they were practically on the same continent. As for Iceland, he was his own continent, for all it mattered, constantly isolated. He slunk further down in his seat and pressed the tips of his fingers into his palm. He wasn't sure when he began to resent Denmark for being so connected with the world. Perhaps it was the fact that he had already begun to resent Denmark in general for constantly bothering Norway.

Though it seemed to Iceland that Norway didn't actually mind.

A bitter laugh escaped Iceland's lips as well, and without a second's hesitation, Norway turned his head to look at him, raising a fine eyebrow at his brother's sudden chuckle. Denmark, having been interrupted as Norway turned his divided attention to Iceland, looked at the younger, silver-haired boy as well, tilting his head to the side.

Iceland almost withered under their stares, hating the questioning looks in their eyes. He hated to be gazed at, scrutinized, and he especially hated it when _that person_ did it to him, as if he could unravel every thread that Iceland was seamed together by… as if he could tell that Iceland loved him, and that it was wrong—but he already knew, didn't he? Perhaps it was the isolation that did this to him. The seclusion got to him good, warped his mind to believe that it was uncomfortable for him to be in the presence of so many people. He had no idea how he survived world conferences. This plane, filled with one hundred and eighty-six people, couldn't possibly be worse, had it not been for the fact that there was a stranger right in front of him, right _behind him_, and what the hell, next to him too. That he couldn't even find it within himself to recognize his own brother…

He couldn't even recognize himself.

"It's nothing," he murmured quietly, turning away and looking out the window, this time at the clouds as the ascended the stairway to heaven.

But Iceland was obviously going to hell, if he even felt this way towards his brother. He wanted to desperately grasp his brother's hand and yell at him, in front of every single one of the passengers, shout at him, 'Love me, damn it, because I'll love you more than he ever did!' because Denmark didn't love Norway anymore, because both of them had long since become friends, and perhaps, perhaps Denmark suspected it. Iceland didn't tell anyone else but Norway, and he sincerely doubted that Norway would have told anyone about his transgression.

_Give me time, Ísland… Maybe…maybe one day I could feel the same way…_

This was going to be a long plane ride to his new hell.


	2. 1: L O N G N I G H T

**I absolutely adore this pairing. NorIce is my OTP for Hetalia. And since I forgot to the put the disclaimer in the prologue, here it is.**

Disclaimer:

I don't own anything from World Series Hetalia, or any of the characters from Himaruya Hidekaz.

* * *

Whichever genius it was that decided to put Norway and Iceland in the same room together—_roommates—_because they were _goddamn brothers_ should have rotted in Iceland's hell with him. With a frantic shake of his head, he glanced at Norway's room card once again to confirm his worst fear. Staving off a large sigh, he lugged his suitcase with him to the elevator, watching the doors slid back together like a wall of water sloshing back to the other side. Drowning certainly seemed more attractive than sharing a room with Norway, of all people.

He wouldn't have even minded a room with Denmark.

Okay, maybe he would have, but the point was that Iceland hated this sleeping arrangement, showering arrangement, and living arrangement. Maybe he would get lucky and Norway wouldn't even be in the room half of the time.

And maybe pigs would fly and Sweden would start dancing to Nyan Cat.

He hoped that he'd get lucky and the elevator would crash all four floors to the very, very solid bottom, but Norway's grasp on his wrist kept him grounded. But grounded to what? The elevator? The earth? Reality?

Reality was a giant slap in the face, because obviously, _quite obviously_, Norway didn't love him in _that. way. _Who would? Who would love his own brother? In an assembly in front of every single country in the world, perhaps only Iceland would raise his hand and earn the censure of everyone, for not everyone could be as understanding as Norway had been.

'_I understand. You don't have to beat yourself up about it.'_

The way he had just simply…let Iceland down easy was admirable. He didn't even sound the least bit conceited about the way he told Iceland that he _understood_.

As the elevator doors opened, Iceland quietly tugged his wrist from Norway's grasp in case anyone saw them like this. Ironic that Iceland was in love with him but still ashamed to be seen in public showing any sort of physical intimacy with him. But then, he thought, _Did he ever hold Denmark's wrist so delicately as he did mine?_ His mind foolishly hoped _no._

The hallway chattered around them as Iceland and Norway stoically made their way to room 784. While Iceland fumbled with the key, nearly dropping it, Norway took out his own key and unlocked the door, waiting for Iceland to give him a 'just-because-you-opened-it-first-doesn't-mean-you're-superior' look. To his slight, masked surprise, Iceland said nothing, tucked the key back into his jacket pocket with dignity, and rolled his suitcase into the room.

Without even informing each other, they already decided which bed would be whose. Iceland shied from the light filtering through the window, and Norway preferred not to be near the door. Wordlessly, Iceland unpacked everything into the dresser, even pulling out his puffin pillowpet and setting it on the twin bed. If Norway found out it childish, he showed no indication that he did.

Iceland was the first to explore the washroom, since Norway made no move to get up from the bed he sat on. He was relieved when he closed the door behind him, exhaling lowly. He didn't even realized that he had held his breath for so long. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he found his appearance distasteful.

Then he sat down in the corner between the door and the wall and buried his head in his hands, feeling a hot flush of shame crawl up his neck again as he came to the conclusion that he was only so silent because he was listening to the movement outside of the room.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for something to happen and wondered what he ever did to be worthy of this agony.

* * *

The assembly for new students was immediately set into procession. After half an hour of waiting for Iceland to come out, Norway finally opened the door to the washroom and found that his younger brother had fallen asleep, curled up into an upright fetal position in the corner. Without dallying, he shook his brother awake, and Iceland opened his eyes quickly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Unconsciously, he placed his hand over Norway's, which happened to be on his shoulder, and yawned.

"What?" he asked, tilting his head to the side and forgetting the tense atmosphere he was supposed to uphold around Norway.

Norway gave him a cryptic smile. "It's time for the assembly."

It took Iceland a moment, and even then, his mind still didn't comprehend. "Assembly?" he echoed lamely. "For what?"

Seeing his little brother like this, asking such naïve questions, brought an affection tone to Norway's voice. "Welcoming new students."

"Attendance is required?" Iceland muttered, gripping the doorjamb to pull himself up. He stepped around Norway and ran a hand through his messy hair, yawning again. Damn it, he was tired after that long plane ride. "And I suppose I'm not allowed to say fuck the rules, am I?"

Iceland already fucked the rules quite a lot. In fact, he was quite sure that _falling in love with his brother _was giving the rules a sore ass to deal with in the morning. Yeah. Fuck the rules. Mutely, Iceland discarded his jacket onto the bed and removed the ribbon around his neck, massaging the raw area where the ribbon had chafed. Without turning to see if Norway would be bothered—or warning him that he was going to strip—Iceland unbuttoned his dress shirt and tossed it onto the bed next to his jacket, going to the drawers and perusing it for a more comfortable shirt to wear.

He had especially bought suitable clothing—with help from Hungary, who had insisted on visiting Iceland and taking him shopping—for the warm climate, since he was much more used to snow and freezing temperatures. When he finished changing, Norway just as quietly took him by the wrist again and led him out of the room. It seemed that some people weren't going to attend, by the looks of the tangled mess of legs barricading the hallway.

Annoyed, Iceland stepped around them, attempting to keep up with Norway's longer strides. His mind couldn't help but focus back on the feeling of Norway's fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he thought what it would have been like to be wrapped around his—

The thought was cut off as soon as Iceland had thought it. Now that had gone too far, beyond Iceland's own comfort zone. How could he think…_that?_

Iceland hoped to whatever deity out there that Norway didn't notice how his attitude regressed from faintly affable to aloof yet again. He wanted to sigh, he didn't want to think, and sometimes, he just wanted an escape from his own poisoned thoughts. He wanted to fall asleep and never wake up, but he could never do that to his own citizens. But if they all went back to Norway…

Thoughts of suicide followed Iceland all the way to the auditorium. His amethyst gaze flickered back and forth, from his feet to the left wall, but as they made their way into the auditorium, his eyes widened at the sheer size of it, impressed. He could tell, though, that they were late. Norway guided him to a seat, unfortunately, right next to Denmark, and sat down beside him.

Suicide was an almost welcome prospect, because not but ten seconds after he sat down, Denmark leaned over and whispered, "What naughty things were you guys doing that held you two up?"

Norway reached behind Iceland and smacked Denmark on the head as Austria, the president of the Student Council, continued to speak of curfew hours, holiday arrangements, and dining halls. Iceland tensed imperceptibly. If Norway lowered his arm a bit, then, perhaps, legitimately, his arm would be around Iceland's shoulders. But his little fantasy was dashed as Norway returned his arm to his side and looked toward Austria.

The close proximity nearly drove Iceland insane. Though he could smell Denmark's presence next to him just fine, the simple whiff mint, mountain side, and ocean shore to his left started to inundate Iceland's nostrils. He could taste Norway's scent forever and never tire of it, if his brother didn't find it odd. His fingers trembled. He didn't want to be this close to his brother, and earlier on the plane, it hadn't bothered him, so why should it have bothered him now? Was it the fact that the auditorium didn't smell like one hundred and eighty-six tired and worn strangers?

Iceland was sure that it wasn't cologne. It was probably something more like Norway's natural scent. The smell of undiluted akvavit, pressed clothing, and fresh bread intruded on Iceland's sense of smell, however. He was immensely glad when the assembly was over, but a new feeling of immense dread settled in his stomach like a stone.

Sleeping.

Undoubtedly, Iceland was tired as hell and wanted to get to sleep as soon as fucking possible, but there was that one voice in the back of his mind that teased him viciously. _You know you can't sleep without your brother in a foreign bed._

_For just a few days, _Iceland protested against himself, but he dreaded it and anticipated it all the same. _For just a few days. _He shut his eyes as they went up the elevator again, this time filled with five Scandinavian countries, and Iceland thought to himself that he really didn't want these feelings towards his brother. Or, at least, he really regretted telling his brother.

He expected Norway to simply sleep in his own bed though. Things were too awkward between him and Iceland for them to even share a room without discomfort, let alone a bed. He wouldn't have even minded having a room with Russia and fully expected to get another roommate and several sleepless nights. But now that Norway was his roommate, he could fully expect no sleep at all during the course of the year, and Iceland required sleep—at least seven hours of sleep each day—to function properly.

They entered the room quietly, separating from the other Nordics at the mouth of their own hallway. Iceland had the key out this time, sending Norway a challenging glare which was returned with a gaze of hidden amusement. The problem with knowing Norway so well was knowing that he could always find a trace of what his older brother was feeling through his eyes. The eyes were the door to the soul, weren't they? When Iceland had confessed to Norway, he dared not look into Norway's eyes in case he found disgust or revolt.

Iceland silently and smoothly opened the door, stepping inside and feeling the cool air of the room caress his skin. It was nothing compared to the outdoors in Iceland, but still, he relished at the chilly breeze that sent shivers down his spine. He glanced at the window and saw the dark curtain of sky, stars glittering and emblazoned within the fabric. He wanted to be a star. Stars were lonely, isolated, and distant. He could be a star. And stars didn't feel this way toward their brothers.

He went to the drawers again to assess what he would wear to sleep. Usually he gave no qualm to wearing his boxers, but now that his brother was in the same room as him… Maybe Iceland could request a room change, but he wouldn't out of fear of offending and hurting Norway's feelings. He decided against wearing his pants to sleep and took out a toothbrush, twirling it in his hand as he went to the bathroom, eyes half-lidded with weariness.

Norway was already there, standing stock-still in the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He glanced to Iceland, acknowledging his presence with a nod, and handed the tube of toothpaste to him.

"Thanks," Iceland murmured softly and set to brushing his teeth as well.

When it came to rinsing out the mouth, just as Iceland was about to lean down to spit into the sink, his head collided with Norway's, and surprised, he drew back, rubbing his head, toothpaste and some saliva smeared across his lips. The spit had been rather ungraceful, but at least it didn't miss the sink. He put his hand under the running water and wiped his mouth, staring at Norway pointedly as if blaming him for his now throbbing temple. Norway stared back, his mouth quirking and betraying the ghost of a smile.

The intense gaze Norway gave him was simply too much. He bent down, took a swig of water from the sink, and spat out the remnants of toothpaste in his mouth. He placed the head of his toothbrush under the running tap water and flicked his wrist twice to get rid of the unnecessary water. Then he placed it in the toothbrush holder that Norway had already conveniently placed there and exited the bathroom hurriedly.

Being in a small space with his brother, like on the plane, made him extremely uncomfortable. And the fact that he could have easily closed the door and locked them both in…

He flopped onto his bed ungracefully, wishing that there was some sort of curtain that could section him off from the world. It _was_ a four-poster bed… If Iceland got spare sheets from the drawers, he could make a shoddy work of drapes, but then Norway would get suspicious and they would both have to relive the discomfort of June seventeenth. Best not put up any sort of curtain.

_Then how will I hide the fact that I can't sleep? _Iceland wondered to himself. He'd be restlessly turning in my bed, and if Norway couldn't see it, he could certainly hear it. That brought his idea of curtains to a complete standstill, but the thought of being shielded from his brother's gaze gave him a little comfort.

_I guess I'll just try to stay still_, he thought and lay on his back, staring up at the darkened ceiling with a dazed expression. The bed felt nice, but it was foreign, and he was going to have trouble adjusting to sleeping on it.

_He won't sleep with me._

The thought brought a blush to Iceland's cheeks. The double entendre made him turn on his side, facing away from Norway's bed as he discovered newfound annoyance for himself. When had his thoughts turned so perverted, for one? Damn it, if this continued, he'd turn out just like Denmark. Or worse, _France_. Iceland shuddered at the prospect of becoming as perverted as France and curled up slightly, clasping his pillowpet to his chest.

As Norway came out of the bathroom, Iceland couldn't possibly have had an idea of how adorable Norway thought he looked. Like a little child, Iceland hugged his puffin pillow to him, eyes closed and a faint tint of pink to his cheeks as his lips parted. He was trying to sleep, Norway noted, but it didn't seem successful in the slightest. The furrow of the brow was evident and voiced Iceland's uneasiness enough.

Inaudibly, Norway stood there, watching Iceland for a while, before he slipped into the bed as well, sidling up right next to his younger brother. He could feel his brother tense and smiled in the darkness. Lacking warning, he wrapped his arms around Iceland's waist and pulled him closer, earning a squeak of surprise from the boy with the puffin pillowpet. Iceland's small frame shook with shock, and he turned his head to look at Norway.

"Wha—"

Norway shook his head, placed his head next to Iceland's, and, breath tickling Iceland's skin as if his lips were right next to his neck, murmured, "I trust you."

With this newfound revelation in mind, Iceland's body relaxed against Norway's hold, and he felt like a small child again, reveling in the warmth of his older brother because of a nightmare the ten minutes before. He felt like a small child again, a small child who didn't hold such poisonous thoughts, who didn't have such transgressions toward his brother. Homosexuality was one thing, and Iceland didn't mind it in the least, but to love his own _brother_…

He hugged the pillow pet closer to himself and tried to will away the sensation of being pressed up against his older brother's chest.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. 2: I N T E N S E G A Z E S

**I'm proud to bring you the second chapter of Hourglass!**

* * *

When Iceland said he didn't want to talk about it, he honestly _didn't want to talk about it_. He rubbed his eyes cantankerously and steeled himself for an awkward second day at 'school,' inhaling and hyperventilating in the bathroom. There were too many students, it seemed, too many students in this large school that it made the entire academy look a tad smaller than it should have looked like. Iceland placed his head between his knees and inhaled deeply, trying to reassure himself that it wouldn't be too bad. It would be like World Conferences. Yeah. World Conferences weren't that bad.

And it's not like all of the countries would be crammed into one classroom. _But they are_, his mind whispered.

Yeah, it wouldn't be that bad.

The argument didn't sound very convincing to Iceland, but he shouldered his anxiety and stood, dizzy for a minute, opening the door with a disoriented expression on his face.

"Ready?" Norway asked, tying his shoe.

"Never," Iceland breathed, feeling unsteady as he watched his brother rise from the bed.

He still felt amazed at the fact that he had fallen asleep in the same bed as Norway. Even if it was for only two hours—and Iceland had counted, yes, staring at the clock until he last remembered the numbers 5:26, waking up to find that the time had changed to 7:29—Iceland felt faintly accomplished. He had gone into the bathroom after that to hyperventilate, stirring Norway up accidently as he unintentionally jostled him awake. Iceland was sure to fall asleep in class later on in the day, but honestly, he didn't give a shit.

"You fell asleep extremely late," Norway deadpanned, wry amusement masked in his eyes.

Iceland wanted to say dryly, _Well, I wonder why…_ but they both knew the reason. "You should probably…sleep in your own bed."

Norway shot him a look. "I told you that I trust you, didn't I?"

"I know you did," Iceland replied, feeling the back of his neck heat up. "And I heard it quite clearly. I know you trust me. But I don't trust myself."

His older brother gave him the 'are you fucking serious' expression, and Iceland nodded. "Well…if that's what you want, then don't blame me when you can't fall asleep at all."

Iceland sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I got the drill…"

He went over to the drawers again, figuring that he should probably wear something other than his boxers to class. Eyeing the messy pile of clothing in the second drawer with distaste, he thought that maybe going to class in his boxers wouldn't be such a bad idea after all when he felt the faint tingle on his neck of someone breathing against it and nearly jumped.

"Wear the black shirt."

Faintly, Iceland wondered if Norway was intentionally leading him on. Norway was, surely, more mature than that. But as Norway reached around Iceland, arm brushing against his, for the black shirt and placed it in Iceland's slack grasp, he couldn't help but think that maybe his brother might have…

No, that was impossible.

"Okay," he responded, a little too breathlessly, taking the shirt and pushing the second drawer back. Then he pulled out the top drawer, feeling a bit annoyed that it was slightly taller than he was, and stood on his tippy-toes to stick his hand in the mess of different pants. He grabbed a random one, uncaring if it matched his shirt or not, and sprinted to the bathroom, feeling his brother's scent overwhelm him.

Shaking his head, amused, Norway shut the drawer and sat back down on Iceland's made, but unnoticed, bed.

* * *

He could survive the first day of class. Yeah. He could.

That's what Iceland tried to tell himself for the past fifty minutes, eyes flickering nervously to the clock as he attempted to listen to his teacher explain the rules in her classroom. Everything was based around rules, rules, rules. Damn it, he hated the rules. Fuck the rules. He gave up on listening and just pretended to process every single word she said. After all, hearing wasn't the same thing as listening. If Norway had ever…made noise in Denmark's bedroom, Iceland would just hear it. He wouldn't listen, he wouldn't comprehend.

_Fuck the rules, _his mind repeated to him.

But his conscience told him to listen and hear the teacher out, so he did. He focused, hard, on the teacher, staring at her sharp, angular face, her bird-like appearance, the way the top of her bun was starting to collapse inside, the way ringlets of brown and flecked gold framed her face—and he found that her pretty appearance didn't make him give a single fuck. He looked around at the other nations and found them only listening partly because of how pretty she was.

Sighing, he leaned back against the chair and dully waited for the period to be over.

* * *

At lunch, he would have sat with his brother. Honestly. He would have gone right up to Norway and slid next to him on the bench. But he decided to 'mingle,' because it wouldn't hurt for once in his life to talk to someone other than his alleged family. So that's obviously the only reason why he ran to the bathroom and threw up any breakfast that he had ingested earlier that day, because seeing the cafeteria, the small, small cafeteria, and the multitude of people inside of it—_all of the world,_ damn it—and feeling like he was surrounded and about to be thrown into a boiling pot of metal was enough to make him sick, queasy, scared.

He was pretty thankful when no one else came into the bathroom, and he stumbled out of the stall, washing his face, his hands, rubbing the corners of his mouth, and when he was finally finished, he slumped against the wall and let himself slide to the floor in an undignified manner, sitting there, feeling defeated and a dull ache in his throat, a bitter taste of bile on his tongue.

Iceland ran a hand through his hair and laughed. He had never had such a bad panic attack before, but this one certainly did a number on him. His fingers didn't stop quivering, and when one of them hit a snag in his silvery locks, he winced and extricated his hand from his hair.

"I'm a mess," he said to no one in particular.

"You sound pretty insane too, since you're just sitting there, talking to yourself."

His head snapped up, and he searched for the source of the voice. His eyes narrowed. "Prussia."

"Sup, kiddo? Expecting anyone else's not-so-awesome-as-me presence?"

Iceland sighed. "No, I was actually hoping to expect no one's presence."

"…Dude. It's a _public_ bathroom."

"Touché."

Prussia grinned and knelt down next to Iceland. "You okay, kid? Those sounds you were making earlier weren't pretty."

"You should have seen what caused them," Iceland retorted. "It wasn't pretty either."

A rough, hoarse laugh echoed through the bathroom. "Touché, kid, touché. Iceland, right?" Warily, Iceland nodded. "Try not to get sick in the beginning of the year. It's in the middle that you've got to watch out for. Trust me. I'm a fucking junior here."

"What, are there alcohol and drugs involved?"

"Asking me to sell you some? Nah. I don't do that to little kids," Prussia joked.

Iceland snorted. "I doubt you don't. You seem like the type to sell from the most withered men to the baby barely out of the cradle."

"Well, well. If you ever want the sharp sting of a needle, come to room 508."

"You're a drug dealer," Iceland said flatly.

Prussia laughed again. "I prefer exotic pharmacist."

* * *

After hiding in the bathroom for the rest of lunch, he came out, only to have his path obstructed by Norway right at the turn of the next hallway. Cadet blue eyes narrowed, mouth set in a firm line, Norway didn't look happy in the least. Iceland attempted to step backwards, his expression saying, 'uncle, uncle.' His brother gripped his wrist tightly—he seemed to do that often, these days, like he was afraid of holding Iceland's hand—and dragged him to the next period, watching him closely like a hawk.

"Why were you in the bathroom?" Norway asked stonily.

"Er, how did you know I was in the bathroom?"

"Prussia."

_Right_. Iceland wanted to sigh in exasperation. Now, however, he was at an ultimatum. Lie or tell the truth? The truth didn't sound very nice, and he couldn't lie to save his life… "Well, I was in the bathroom…because, like any normal person, I had to shit." Close enough to the truth. Any normal person vomited at least once in their life, right?

"Can you see the sky, Iceland?" Norway asked again, pinching the bridge of his nose impatiently. It was blatant that he saw right through Iceland's fib.

"Um, no."

"Then don't give me bullshit."

Ouch. That tone of voice struck a chord with him, but he ignored the hurting in his chest and pulled his lips into a frown. "Why the hell do you want to know anyway? It's not actually that important."

Norway stopped right in the middle of the hallway, right in front of their classroom door. Wow. They had the same class for fifth period. He searched Iceland's amethyst eyes, looking for something that he couldn't seem to find. "You're my little brother, you idiot. I want to know because I care."

Iceland stared at Norway in surprise. He had been so caught up in feeling wrong about his feelings towards him that he nearly forgot that they were still brothers, despite everything. And that made it all wrong, somehow, made everything even worse. With a scowl forming on his face, he tugged his wrist free of Norway's fingers, muttered, "It's not important," and opened the door to the classroom, walking in.

Resigned, Norway followed him.

* * *

History was a pretty dumb class, now that Iceland thought about it more. Why would it need to be taught when everyone could just remember? Like the time when America developed a bi-polar problem and it became the Civil War, or the time England got so depressed that he started to tax America like hell and _that_ became the Revolutionary War—and damn, now that Iceland thought about _that_ more, he realized that everything was started so stupidly. He thought about the Kalmar Union.

Scowling, he shook his head and frowned at the desk.

Upon entering the classroom, he had gone to the furthest corner away from the Nordics, sitting with the African countries. Though they raised eyebrows at his sudden decision to sit with them, they didn't really pay attention to him after a brief introduction. _Hi, I'm Iceland. I hope you won't mind me sitting here. No, that's fine. My name's Cameroon. Nice to meet you. Hello! I'm Seychelles; it's my pleasure to meet you!_

"So, Iceland…" Seychelles said, cheerful, "are those your brothers over there?"

Iceland looked up and looked to where Seychelles was pointing. He saw all four of them staring at him and felt an apprehensive tingle on the back of his spine. Probably one of his brother's fairies. He sighed, closed his eyes, and opened them again, turning around. His eyes widened as he stared down not a fairy, but a _troll_.

Oh holy shit.

He turned back to Norway, narrowing his eyes again. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat.

_A troll. A troll. Holy shit. A troll._

"What's wrong, Iceland?" Seychelles noticed Iceland's obvious discomfort.

Iceland turned to Seychelles. "Do you want to see it?"

Her eyes widened. "See _what_?"

He closed his eyes and pressed his palm into her shoulder. "Turn around and look."

He could feel Seychelles turning in her seat, and the gasp of surprise jostled his hand from her shoulder. The troll vanished from her sight, and she turned back to stare at Iceland, who offered her a smile.

"W-What—that was—a t-troll," she blubbered, and he held a finger up to her lips.

"One of my brother's trolls," he whispered close to her ear, wondering if Norway was staring at him. He wondered if Norway was feeling bothered in the slightest. He hoped Norway was, anyway, and leaned back again as Seychelles gazed at Iceland in admiration. He could feel the intensity of four stares to his left, and not far in front of Denmark's seat, there sat England and France, both showing troubled expressions as they looked at Iceland too.

* * *

**One question for the readers:  
How soon would you like to see Norway and Iceland kiss? :) There aren't any guarantees, but I'd just like a consensus of who wants to see action extremely soon.**


	4. 3: T I C K L E S A N D C A R E S S E S

The feeling of having Norway watch him all day was an exhilarating feeling, Iceland admitted. As soon as he had arrived in this academy, he had possibly associated himself with the worst person known to man—Prussia, who wasn't even a nation but came to World Academy because Germany did. Then he had gone ahead and became friends with Russia, unwittingly, when he approached the easily scariest person in the crowd at break-time, and said 'hello.'

The feeling was fucking exhilarating.

So, when they went back to the room, naturally, Norway had to bring him down from that high.

"What are you doing?" he asked flatly as he made Iceland sit on the bed and paced before him. "Are you purposely trying to bring ruin to yourself? Iceland, Russia is dangerous."

Iceland looked at the sharp curve of Norway's jaw, his cadet blue eyes, his fine nose, and he thought that his brother looked beautiful. The flame in those sea-deep eyes… His hand reached out for Norway's unconsciously, and when he felt skin touch his own, he nearly pulled back in shock. Norway shook his head, closing his eyes. His face was tense, his jawline tightened, his hands trembling in what seemed to Iceland as anger. Irrepressible anger.

"Nor—"

Norway leaned forward, trapping Iceland where he sat, placing his hands near each side of Iceland's waist. Iceland instinctively lurched back, feeling the intrusion of his personal space. A sharp gasp escaped from his lips. This was a thousand times worse than the entire world crammed into one room. This was _a thousand worlds worse_. Did Norway know how uncomfortable he was feeling, dammit? His fingers curled into his bedcovers, and he tried not to shudder.

"Stop your self-destruction."

"G-Get away from me."

Those eyes—they held no amusement. Norway came so close to Iceland that their noses touched. "You said you love me, Iceland. Is this really your way to show it?"

Abruptly, everything came crashing down around Iceland, and he jerked awake, gasping and clutching at his shirt. _Every emotion is always intensified in dreams_, he reassured himself. _That… That's just a dream._ In dread, though, he remembered yesterday, when Norway had confronted him in the empty classroom. Why would his subconscious change the setting to their dorm room?

_Don't be stupid, Iceland, you know._

"Iceland…not again," a voice murmured somewhere behind him.

He tensed and muttered, "Sorry."

"Go back to sleep…"

"I'm not tired," Iceland lied. His eyes flickered to the clock. 3:35. _Fuck_. "Sorry for waking you…"

He heard a rustling of bed covers, a flame lit in his stomach at the sound, and the weight next to him on the bed was unsettled. He felt Norway's hand on his shoulder. The words were already in the gesture before Norway even had to speak.

"I told you so."

Iceland sighed. "Shut up." He collapsed back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling and seeing his brother in the corner of his eye. He pretended not to notice Norway's presence on his bed. "I'm not tired," he said again, as if trying to convince himself. "And if I am, I'll drink coffee."

Norway's eyes were like sapphires under the surface of the sea. Iceland could drown trying to reach them. "Don't turn it into an addiction."

"So says the person that drinks it every day," Iceland shot back. He tried to ignore the fact that Norway's hand rested over his own now. "Aren't you going to go back to sleep?"

His brother shrugged. "I'll drink coffee."

"Whited sepulcher," Iceland mumbled.

Norway surprised him by chuckling. "That's what older brothers are for," he replied, lying down next to Iceland on the bed. He laced their fingers together without qualm, and he couldn't _possibly_ tell how Iceland's heartbeat sped up. _Is this just 'brotherly comfort' to him? _Iceland wondered. "Which reminds me…you have yet to call me brother."

"Never," Iceland replied, pulling away with a small snicker. The tightening knot in his stomach was gone as soon as Norway started to prod him in the side. "S-Stop that!"

It turned out to be a full-fledged tickling war, with Iceland losing miserably and burying his head into the pillows to muffle the laughter and gasps. He knew Norway was playful—and _sadistic_, that bastard—but not like this, surely. He almost forgot how he felt towards Norway. In the back of his mind, that one rational thought still clung to life, thinking, _I'm in love with my brother. _The rest of his mind seemed more focused on _I'm his little brother_ instead.

But too soon, those hands stopped, pushing down against the mattress to support Norway's weight, and Norway loomed over Iceland, who lifted his head from the pillow to look at him. This was starting to resemble Iceland's dream a lot. Iceland, trapped between his brother's arms, Iceland, feeling the intrusion of personal space again, Iceland feeling _a thousand worlds away_.

It was 3:50, but Iceland didn't give a damn. All he knew was that if he closed his eyes from his brother's gaze, he could pretend that Norway wanted him. For a single moment, he could pretend that his brother loved him back, in _that way_, and that would have been enough. But he kept his eyes open, steeled himself for the disgust as Norway realized what he was thinking—and it never came. Surprised, he made to get up, and they knocked foreheads.

"Ow!" Iceland exclaimed, falling back onto the bed. His arms slipped, his legs knocked Norway down over him.

_Oof_.

Even when Norway got up and stopped leaning over Iceland, he gave his brother a small smile. "People will wonder what we were doing."

Iceland laughed and groaned at the same time. "Yes they will, and I won't want to offer an explanation…"

As if on cue, knocks rang through the door, echoing through their room. Norway sighed. "I'll get the door."

He got up, stepping over some of the sheets that had partly ended up hanging from the bed and touching the floor like drapes. Then, he opened the door, and bright, fluorescent hallway light streamed in. Iceland made a visor of his hand and strained to see the person in the doorway. It was Germany, who looked rather embarrassed, with a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks, as he faced Norway in the doorway. His combat boots were untied, as if he hadn't even bothered because he knew he would go right back to sleep after confronting them.

"Keep down the racket," Germany said, annoyed. "The entire hallway can't sleep because of whatever you two are doing in your room."

Iceland felt his neck flush, and he attempted to hide under the covers that were, inconveniently, three-quarters on the floor. The rustle of movement as he tried to gather them made Germany glance over to him, and the guy's cheeks turned a deep red.

"I'm very sorry to disturb you two," he continued, "but please, at least try to be quiet."

Norway pointed to Iceland. "He did try to muffle his sounds with the pillow."

"Norway!" Iceland exclaimed in protest.

Germany tapped his foot in exasperation. "World Academy is no place for—"

"You bastard," Iceland continued, as if Germany hadn't spoken. "If you hadn't tickled me, we wouldn't even be in this damn situation." He huffed and kicked the covers that he gathered so carefully off the bed, hugging his pillowpet to his chest. Norway looked faintly amused. "Fuck you."

To this day, Germany still didn't understand why he put up with these monkeyshines, or why Norway started laughing, softly and quietly, but still _laughing, _clutching his sides lightly in case they split open. Iceland's pink cheeks were visible through the grey shadow as he shot the bird at Norway and turned on his side, pretending to go back to sleep, but really just trying to sew back together the pieces of his tattered dignity.

Germany simply closed the door with a sigh and marched back to his room.

* * *

Iceland felt a bit breathless when he got out of bed. Truth was, he didn't sleep a wink, though Norway got at least four hours. Sighing, he wobbled to the bathroom while his brother still slept and decided on a shower after he brushed his teeth. As soon as he stepped into the shower, he realized that he didn't bring a change of clothes with him and swore loudly. He didn't welcome the prospect of pulling his worn clothes out of the laundry hamper.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

Although he wouldn't have been surprised if his frustrated swear woke Norway up, it didn't.

Odd.

Normally, he wouldn't have sworn—just mutely gather his courage to sprint outside later to grab pants and a shirt—but maybe it was the lack of sleep that got to him. Iceland needed sleep to function properly, and if he didn't get it, there was no telling what he would do if set off. It was kind of like a situation with…a girl with raging hormones, he supposed. Rubbing his eyes, he stood under the shower water for a while, feeling the warm water release his tense muscles.

His sides ached where Norway tickled him.

_Damn it._

He just wished… He just wished that Norway wouldn't have touched him. Or, if touching was a necessity, that Norway would have touched him more gently, caressed his skin, and whispered endearments. Something like that.

_Oh god. I'm sounding like a lovesick schoolgirl._

The shower ended, Iceland rinsed the suds from his skin and hair, and he stepped out, wrapping the towel around his waist as he used a smaller cloth to dry his upper torso. Screw his hair—it was always messy anyway. Then he held his breath. This was the moment of truth. He hoped to every single Norse deity he could think of—and even prayed to Loki, who loved to stir up trouble and shit—and turned the knob, peering around the open door.

Norway's bed was empty.

Iceland let out a breath of relief and stepped out then, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist, little droplets of water running down his smooth skin and lean chest. He ignored the tingling of apprehension in his spine, thinking to himself, _He left the room, even if it is for a minute. _Without hurry, he went over to his drawers and began to pull one when he heard footsteps. He froze.

And then, he heard the faint jangle of the doorknob and grabbed the clothes nearest him—which was only a pair of pants—and sprinted back to the bathroom, locking himself in with a sigh of relief.

"Iceland?" Norway's voice sounded distorted through the door.

"Changing," Iceland replied, his own voice muffled as he pressed his pants to his mouth, trying to suppress his hard breathing. When he calmed down, he looked down at his pants, realized he was without boxers, thought that he wasn't going commando, and then realized another thing. He looked over the pants he had gotten and came to the conclusion that Hungary popped it into his shopping bag without telling him. The thing looked tight as hell. He wasn't sure he wanted to wear that.

One thing he knew for sure: he'd have to get another pair of pants. And underclothes. And a shirt. Damn it.

Inhaling and gathering all of his dignity, he wrapped the towel tighter around his waist, gripped the tight jeans in his hand, and unlocked the bathroom door, stepping out and feeling vulnerable. As soon as he saw Norway, he nearly stumbled over a lazily discarded shirt and looked down at what nearly tripped him. The black shirt he wore yesterday. The black shirt Norway told him to wear.

_Oh, fuck._

"_God morgen_," Norway greeted quietly. He strode past Iceland into the bathroom, and when the door clicked shut, Iceland all but ran to his drawers and sank to the floor in relief.

"Holy hell," Iceland mumbled, pulling himself to his feet and tugging a random shirt over his head. Then he put on fresh, clean boxers and pulled on less…form-fitting pants than the ones he had chosen earlier.

Eventful morning? You could say so.

* * *

Iceland felt something—someone—prodding his side again and thought it was Norway. Without opening his eyes, he swatted the hand away and muttered, "Go away, Norway."

"I'm not Norway," a voice replied, and Iceland sat upright quickly, still bleary-eyed. Hair tickled his face as he stared into the dark eyes of an unfamiliar nation. Behind him stood Seychelles, who gave Iceland a large, cheerful smile. "Hong Kong," the person said, bowing.

Iceland stuck his hand out, using his other to rub his eyes. "Iceland," he replied, yawning. He had fallen asleep in the class. Of course. When Hong Kong didn't take his hand, staring at it perplexedly, he retracted it and bowed too. The effort nearly made him keel over instead, but he stood upright before it happened and said hi to Seychelles too.

Maybe…maybe it was time to change the crowd he hung around with.

Maybe sitting with other people during History class wasn't that bad either.

And Iceland mostly liked the feeling of Norway's stare on him.

* * *

**Dear Guest, **I'd love to make Iceland kiss Norway soon, but I think Iceland's too insecure for that...but when they do kiss, I promise it's going to have a lot of drama ensue afterwards. ^^  
If you are the same person who asked for Iceland to kiss Norway, as for having Denmark try to make a move on Norway, I would have done so, but I kind of hinted that Denmark was with Netherlands... *hangs head at self-destructive story* But if that's fine, I'm going to make Norway worried and somewhat jealous. :)


	5. 4: A N E W O U T F I T

**Sorry for the long wait! Here is the revamped version of chapter four! I hope it's up to your standards! Please tell me what you thought of it! **(if you aren't able to tell me through review, if you'd like to PM me, I'm fine with that too. ^^)

* * *

"So you'll be staying with Hong Kong and Seychelles on the weekend," Norway stated blandly, as if to confirm it. His voice held a faint tone of worry, as if he actually cared about what Iceland did on the weekend. _He doesn't, he doesn't,_ Iceland thought to himself. "Will you be staying on campus grounds or leaving on the transit bus?"

Iceland shrugged. "I don't know yet. Whatever goes with them, I suppose."

Over the days, the full month that they had spent at World Academy, Iceland was successful in suppressing his emotions. Whenever Norway talked to someone else—especially if it was a _girl_—he would feel an ache in the back of his throat, in the wells deep in his heart, and a sting in his eyes. Yes, he was jealous. He was transcendently jealous, and he wanted his brother all to himself. But no, he forced himself to stay away from Norway, because it wouldn't do to be with his brother all day, fending him off from…other people.

Norway probably wasn't as used to isolation as Iceland… The first syllable of isolation was the first syllable of Iceland, for crying out loud.

"Be careful," was all Norway said as he left the dorm room, and Iceland sank to his knees, his breathing uneven.

"God, it's so hard to talk to him," Iceland mumbled, clutching the sheets hanging from his bed like curtains. Recently, he'd been considering putting up curtains. He hadn't been getting much sleep for several days now—five hours if he was lucky, an all-nighter if he focused too much on Norway's gaze like emblazoning lasers on his back.

Yes, he usually slept with his back to Norway. It was too much to face him, because he definitely wouldn't get any sleep, instead preferring to watch Norway's unconscious state.

_I sound like a fucking stalker._

Iceland laughed to himself, and put on his jacket, exiting the dorm room too and locking the door behind him.

He wasn't looking forward to the weekend breaks.

Students had the option of going off campus to places to visit; dates, shopping, hang-outs—nightclubs, even. They had to be back before 4:30AM in the morning, and they could only leave after everyone checked out at the counselor's by 9:00AM. France probably wouldn't admit to it—or he would, the shameless flirt and passionate romantic—but once, Iceland saw him go with a female country (he'd assumed it was Monaco) to Starbucks, and though they didn't do anything but talk, Seychelles, needless to say, was pissed as hell.

It was a known secret between the three of them, Hong Kong, Seychelles, and Iceland, of Seychelles' and Hong Kong's love interests. And though Iceland would never say it to Taiwan's face, Hong Kong liked her beyond reason. It was unbelievable. The fact that she was pretty oblivious to it as well was a bit disconcerting to Hong Kong, but he didn't let it bother him. That's what Iceland admired about the nation. He swallowed jealousy like Iceland easily downed brennivín. (Norway didn't know that, Iceland hoped.) And Seychelles…

With no offence to France, Iceland had no fucking idea what she saw in him. At all.

Iceland shook his head, ran a hand through his messy silver hair, and walked down the front steps of the dorm building. "Been waiting long?" he asked the two.

Hong Kong rolled his eyes. "Seychelles was telling me how Monaco is really stuck-up, prissy, and she doesn't know what France sees in her."

"Who—Seychelles or Monaco?"

"Both!" Seychelles interjected. Then she wrinkled her nose. "Never mind. I take that back. I refuse to be put in the same category as _Monaco_."

Hong Kong inched over to Iceland and whispered, "Sibling rivalry, you think?"

He shrugged, but Seychelles heard and started to wildly land weak blows on Hong Kong's chest. Behind the folds of his robes, Hong Kong was not a flabby person. It _hurt_ to punch him. Iceland learned that the hard way about five days ago. There was a valid reason—Hong Kong teased him about being asexual.

While Seychelles was busy assaulting Hong Kong, who easily dodged her and ran around on the steps, Iceland looked over the grassy field at the long sidewalk that extended from the corner of his right eye to the corner of his left. It was like an endless, grey horizon, and there—there he saw _Norway? _What the hell?

He felt stunned, and the breath whooshed away from him as he watched Norway from across the field, standing right outside of the bus stop cubicle, an annoyed expression on his face. He was standing next to Denmark, and Iceland's gut clenched in irritation. He turned his face away, but his eyes remained on Norway, bothered even by the close proximity that they had. Sure, Denmark and Netherlands were buddy-buddy now, but…

Iceland was more like a human than he thought. He was easily jealous.

"Iceland! Yoo-hoo! Earth to Iceland!"

He suddenly found a slender hand moving up and down before him, and he blinked, shaking his head.

"What?" he questioned, leaning back on the steps, propping himself up by the elbows, and trying to bask in the sun. _He hated the sun_.

Seychelles smiled innocently. "Hong Kong's just figured out who you like!"

"_What?_" Iceland repeated, his palms suddenly clammy, the atmosphere suddenly chilly. He broke out in a cold sweat. He turned to Hong Kong, apprehensive. "I thought I was asexual," he said lightly, but the tension in his voice was audible. Hong Kong gave him a wry smile.

He sidled up to Iceland again, almost like earlier, and he whispered in Iceland's ear again, but this time, the blood in Iceland's veins stopped circulating. "Are you…in love with your older brother?"

Iceland blanched. "Why would you…think that?"

"Well, Norway is your older brother, right?" Hong Kong sat back on his heels, inspecting Iceland with a curious gaze.

Sighing, Iceland nodded lackadaisically. "Unfortunately."

"Love-hate?" he asked, smirking. When Iceland didn't respond, feeling his neck flush in shame at his _actual answer_, Hong Kong added, "Just like China and Japan…"

"No, no…" Iceland said, putting his hands up in a disagreeing gesture. "It's just… I wish I weren't related to him. Then it might seem a bit more…" He blushed. "Natural."

"Aw, Ice, we won't discriminate just because you have a crush on your older brother!" Seychelles chirped, smiling. She placed her palms on Iceland's. "I think it's really cute, actually."

"It's not!" Iceland protested. "It's not cute, and it's not a crush. It's far more serious than a crush."

Hong Kong mused thoughtfully for a full three seconds. "And does he love you back?"

"Yes," the Icelander replied unsurely, his voice hesitant. "At least…as a brother…"

"Do you love him like a brother?"

"I…" _At a loss for words. _"No."

Seychelles exchanged a glance with Hong Kong as Iceland looked down at his feet, feeling his cheeks warm with shame. Even if they had said that they were okay with it…this type of attraction wasn't very conventional. In fact, it was reviled and revolting most of the time. With a sigh, Iceland slumped his shoulders and placed his head on his palm while his elbow rested against his knee. He heard muttering, the sound of feet dragging, stumbling, and when he looked up, he found that Seychelles was discussing something rapidly with Hong Kong, her voice in hushed tones, brown eyes occasionally flickering over to him.

He looked down when she seemed about to glance to him.

Then, the tension was gone as Seychelles bent down and looked up into his face, smiling reassuringly.

"We want to help you, Iceland."

* * *

In the end, Saturday was spent not on campus, but off campus, at the mall. Of all places to go, Hong Kong decided today would be the day—to get Iceland something other than his 'boring brown military jacket, trousers, and his old-man style ribbon-decked shirt.' He said this all with a straight face, no smile, and a flick of the wrist as he lifted the tail of Iceland's ribbon and dropped it one second after.

They stood in the domed mall, under the circular open space of seven levels, and Iceland wiped his moist palms on his pants. They were all facing three different directions, and of them three, only Iceland looked in the general direction of the books. Hong Kong and Seychelles were both eyeing shop displays, and when Iceland turned to look at them, he gulped nervously as he followed their line of sight.

"No," he said firmly. "No. I thought you just meant for me to spend the day with him—" his voice held a faint tone of desperation, because _anything_, surely _anything_ would have been better than shopping, "—not…not flounder around in the mall looking at clothes!"

Hong Kong smiled evilly. "We're _helping_ you this way, Iceland! Your clothes are boring beyond belief. You need Norway to _notice you_."

"He does notice me!" Iceland said defensively.

"As a little brother who was told that brown military jackets are the shit."

"I was never told that!"

"And no one ever discouraged you either." Iceland couldn't find anything to say to that. "Now, we're going to the nearest clothing store, and you're going to get new clothes, got it?"

"Got it," Iceland mumbled, trudging behind the duo. Seychelles was bouncing all about, skipping down the halls of stores while Hong Kong followed slowly, just a scant two inches in front of Iceland.

* * *

"Oh, Iceland, you absolutely have to buy this outfit!" Seychelles sang.

This certain 'outfit' consisted of a tight-fitting shirt and pants, and…a gay scarf. Not that Iceland wasn't gay, but still… Iceland flushed, pivoting on his heel and about to walk back into the changing rooms when Hong Kong took him by the wrist, spun him back around, and grinned, surveying Iceland from head to toe. He shook his head at Iceland, who glared at him meaningfully. _Don't make me wear this, don't make me wear this, don't make me wear this…_

"I side with Seychelles," Hong Kong declared. "You look fine in it."

Iceland mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'traitor.'

Hong Kong laughed. "Come on, Ice. You have to dress in a way that makes him notice you!"

"Yeah, and I'm sure millions of other people out there _don't_ wear this every day," Iceland muttered irritably, yanking his wrist from Hong Kong's grasp and walking back into the changing room.

He wasn't going to buy this outfit. He _wasn't _going to buy the outfit.

He ended up buying the outfit. At the prompting of Seychelles, who gave him the puppy-dog eyes, he bought the damn thing. Even with the flamboyant scarf. But that didn't mean that he was actually going to wear it… On the bus ride back, he could tell that Seychelles meant for him to wear every garment that came with it—including the studded leather belt.

"You can't do this to me," he groaned, being shoved off the bus by his two so-called friends.

"You're wearing it tomorrow!" they replied in unison, laughing at his glower.

* * *

Iceland had to admit that he wanted Norway to notice him. He wanted Norway to look at him in a way that wasn't platonic. Maybe wearing _those clothes_ would help him, but then again, if he got unwanted attention, it wouldn't result in something that he particularly favored. The next morning, he got up to shower, brushing his teeth beforehand, and when he got out of the shower, he looked over the garments spread across the rack.

_Skinny jeans_. What the hell was Seychelles thinking? She was the one who had coordinated the entire thing—and she probably chose skinny jeans because she preferred to see France in them… With an annoyed sigh, he shimmied into them, pulling them over his Icelandic-flag boxers (_don't even think about laughing, dammit) _and buttoning them above the pelvis. He despaired as soon as he felt them slip down and hang to his hipbone, the fabric clinging to his slender legs almost desperately.

"Fuck my life," he swore loudly.

Then he quickly dried his hair and pulled the t-shirt over his head, rubbing his nose afterwards. The collar fell loosely around his collarbone, but what the fuck, it caught on his face before!

Last was the scarf.

_There is no way in hell I'm putting that on_.

Rainbow-colored, flamboyant, and _god._

When he tossed it in the hamper, burying it under a mound of dirty clothes—_mainly everything in the laundry hamper_—he realized that he would have to do laundry tomorrow. Which meant…he had no clothes left to wear. Except for the fact that he had like a fucking inexhaustible supply of boxers, he was pretty sure that the laws of society deemed it communally unfit to go around in underclothes.

If today wasn't the death of him, surely tomorrow would be.

Iceland inhaled, trying to regulate his breathing. Norway was probably up by now, wondering why the hell Iceland was taking so fucking long. He steeled himself for a shocked expression, taking in a deep breath, before he opened the door slowly and stuck his messy-haired head out.

Unsurprisingly, Norway sat there, hands folded over his lap as he sat next to a neatly stacked array of fabrics—_his red towel, clothing, __**socks?**__—_and at the sound of the door opening, he looked up. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a fraction, maybe, and he made a sort of choking sound as he stared at Iceland, stunned.

"Don't s-stare," Iceland mumbled, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

To his utter surprise, Norway started laughing.

_Oh, fuck my life twice! _Iceland thought miserably inside his head. He was so immersed in suicidal/homicidal thoughts (directed towards himself and Hong Kong, since Seychelles was a girl and Iceland did not harm girls) that he didn't even notice Norway walking over to him until the Norwegian was _right in front of him_. He gulped, in close proximity with his brother. Was he always so breathless around Norway? _God_, he must've seemed like a girl!

Iceland felt the faintest touch of pressure under his eyes, like a butterfly touch, fingertips dancing on his skin. Norway was skimming, quite possibly, the bruise-like circles under Iceland's eyes. After all, Iceland hadn't slept well for…what? _A month?_

"You haven't been getting enough sleep," Norway noted, his voice a moderate, clear, ringing timbre. He ruffled Iceland's hair affectionately. "Is that why you're dressed like this? Or are you trying to impress someone?"

"Yes," Iceland said before he could stop himself. And then he truly considered suicide then, because Norway regarded him with a curious gaze, his eyes the color of the sky at the peak of its darkest moment. _Please don't ask which, please don't ask which, please don't ask which…_

"Which question are you referring to?" Norway asked, and his younger brother cursed internally.

_The truth. Tell the truth. The truth is good. _Iceland closed his eyes, quelling the urge to lean forward, pull Norway to him, and kiss him. _Tell the truth, Iceland, be honest… He already knows, for pete's sake. _"B-Both."

Norway smiled cryptically—which he had been doing lately and recurrently. "It would be hard not to notice you like this," he informed Iceland softly, ruffling his hair again and walking around him to go into the bathroom.

Needless to say, Iceland's cheeks turned red, and remained red even after Norway was out of sight, and he felt out of breath, like the air had been sucked from his lungs.


	6. 5: P R O G R E S S R E P O R T

**What's this? :O AN UPDATE? WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY?**

**Please, kill me for being so dormant. But I do feel pretty good about myself! I've updated my two—_only two, sadly_—major stories! The other one's from an entirely different fandom that I put on hiatus. I'm so happy that I've updated both. And this chapter is pretty fucking long, if I do say so myself! *grin***

Translation—the only one that you'll need, anyway: _Kaffe, storebror? –_ Coffee, big brother?

**Enjoy the chapter! And if you'd like to slap me in the face with a blowfish, feel free. *bows* But first, take a number and wait patiently in the waiting room. There are still a lot of people in actual real life waiting to do it. *laughs like an idiot* ^^**

* * *

That very Monday morning—four in the morning, to be precise, with everyone up to do laundry—Iceland was confronted. On the border of heatedly. Norway waved a piece of paper in front of him, his emotionless face for once showing something akin to lackadaisical concern. Iceland was pushed uncomfortably against the wall, right next to the doorway of the laundry room where Seychelles—and unfortunately, Romano, Austria, Japan, Germany, Italy, and Spain were hanging about.

"Uh, what's wrong?" Iceland asked. He was trying hard not to drown in the scent of Norway.

_When did he wake up, anyway? I could have sworn he was asleep when I got up…_

"Your progress report."

The look on Iceland's face conveyed the words '_Oh, shit.'_ He wasn't unaware that he was near failing his classes because of his lack of sleep, but he didn't expect Norway to see the progress report that he had hidden under his pillow.

Speaking of which…_was Norway looking under his pillow?_

Thinking about it electrified him, though it was pathetic. _My brother was looking under my pillow. _Picturing Norway on his bed could come later. He shook his head and smiled apologetically at Norway, pulling at the hem of his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"You should be more focused on improving and less on being sorry, Ísland," Norway replied.

Iceland leaned closer to the wrinkled paper that Norway held up in the air for the world to see—_quite literally—_and snickered, clutching his sides. Which two subjects were the only ones he wasn't failing? _World Literature. World Studies. _He sank down against the wall, laughing, gasping for breath, slapping his knee like it was the end of the world as they knew it, death by giggles. He looked up, his eyes blurring as amused tears filled his eyes, and saw Norway's unamused expression.

"Look at"—_hiccup—"_the classes I'm—"—_hiccup—_"failing! Don't you"—_hiccup—"_find it"—_hiccup—_"funny?"

"No. You're _failing_ four of your seven required classes."

"I can"—_hiccup—"_pull them—"—_hiccup_—"up!" Iceland insisted.

Then, the atmosphere grew awkward. Iceland felt the hem of his boxers (_Icelandic flag, bitches—but Iceland loves you all)_ riding up, exposing more leg than he had meant to. He pulled his boxers down slightly with a sheepish smile, got up from where he had splayed himself, and took the report from Norway's hand. Their fingers brushed, and Iceland felt a tingle spiral down his spine. Realizing that he hadn't properly examined his progress report—tossing it aside because he knew that his grades sucked ass—he looked over it closely with a concentrated look, leaning against the wall.

_Advanced Placement Statistics & Calculus – D_

He hid a smile. The teacher there hated the shit out of him.

_Advanced Placement Government/Economics – F_

Iceland snorted. "Why put me in advanced placement?" he muttered, rolling his eyes.

_Advanced Placement World Literature – A_

_Advanced Placement World Studies – A_

_Advanced Placement Foreign Language – D_

Iceland blinked at the red _D_ next to AP Foreign Language, dumbfounded. Was he really that bad at English? He shrugged to himself and continued to scan down the list with a frown now.

_Advanced Placement Physics/Biology/Chemistry/Technology – B_

_Advanced Placement Music Appreciation – F_

Now he couldn't help himself. He started laughing again. He didn't imagine that he'd fail Music Appreciation, of _all subjects_. This time, his hand flew out, hitting the wall, crinkling the paper and trapping it there as he gasped for breath, tears dripping down his cheeks as his chuckles transcended his lung capacity. _How do you fail __**Music Appreciation**__? Oh __**God**__. _He turned to Norway, his sight blurred, and he waved the paper in front of Norway's face.

"You _have_ to admit that this is hilarious," he said, cheeks hurting and jaw aching. He pointed to the Music Appreciation score. "One month, and I'm already this bad."

His brother sighed. "Iceland, as much as it takes true _talent_"—this sent Iceland off on another round of laughing and crying, pleading, '_No, stop it, Norge; my face __**hurts**__!__**'**_—"to fail such an easy subject, I'm concerned. At this rate, you'll drop out of World Academy."

Iceland shrugged, crumpled the paper up, and tossed the ball into the nearest trash can. "Oh well, Noregur. I don't need humans to assess my ability to manage a country."

He told himself that he didn't feel bothered. But his brother's disappointment in him rankled. Yes, his grades really and truly stank of indolence. It wasn't that he wasn't smart enough; it was just that he couldn't function well in class. An entire month of no sleep, with small dark circles under his eyes, blending into his pale skin—no one could function properly under those circumstances. In fact, Iceland thought he was doing pretty well under the stress of having no sleep, tons of school work, and his brother in one room. He looked over to Norway with a reassuring smile—_don't __**look**__ at me like __**that, **__Norway—_and made to go back into the laundry room when Norway's resigned question broke the peace.

"Is it because we're roommates?"

"Wh—how—_what?"_

Norway didn't repeat himself.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" Iceland asked.

"You haven't been sleeping well enough."

"Of course I have," he lied, pretending to try and rub his eyes to hide the circles.

However, Norway caught his wrist in hand with a frown. "If you dislike the arrangement, I can always request a room change—"

No," Iceland said quickly, cutting Norway off. He twisted his hand free of Norway's grasp and held onto his hand. "_Don't_. Please don't. I'll just start turning in my work on time, okay? I'll do my homework earlier in the afternoon after classes are over and finish all of my late work every weekend. But don't—don't change rooms. Please."

Norway stared at him in surprise, and Iceland felt his face heat up with mortification.

"I—" he started to say.

But to his surprise, Norway smiled. "All right."

And then he left Iceland standing there, in boxers, a worn t-shirt, and stunned by his brilliant smile.

* * *

"I noticed, yesterday. It seems that your outfit change didn't work."

"No," Iceland agreed, and then hopefully added, "Does that mean I can go back this weekend to return it?"

"No." Seychelles wrapped her arms around her waist with a sigh. "What does it take to get Norway's attention?" She looked over Iceland. "You're cute enough. Exotic, even. And you have the sweetest smile when you don't realize it…"

_"What?_"

Seychelles smiled at him innocently. "By the way, I heard you guys outside in the hallway. In fact, everyone heard you laughing outside in the hallway. What were you laughing at?"

Iceland grinned. "My grades. They are, in fact, astonishingly _bad_. Noregur thinks I'll fail out within a week, maybe, if it keeps going like this. Guess which subjects I'm not failing?"

"Anything to do with the world in general?" she guessed. She reached over his shoulder for her bottle of Snapple on the washer and yawned. "Why'd you wake me up so early in the morning anyway? I still don't have to do laundry for almost a week, but you've made me…" Seychelles gestured to the three laundry baskets that sat stacked up on each other. She yawned again, stretching, and leaned back against the dryer. Both of them turned heads at the sound of Italy emitting a startled cry, dropping his damp clothing onto Germany. Accidently, of course. Seychelles smiled, and Iceland muffled a snicker. "Don't you love it here?"

"Pity I'll probably be kicked out."

She sighed. "You _won't_ if you actually make some sort of an effort to succeed. Don't you hate it when he's disappointed in you?"

"…How the hell did you know?"

Seychelles looked down at her hands, cradling the glass bottle with one hand and cupping the rim with her other. "I know the feeling." She looked up at Iceland this time, seriously. "I'm really, really tired. Why didn't you ask Hong Kong…?"

"Well, Hong Kong would have kicked my ass if I woke him up from his sleep, since he needs his energy to study and ace the math test that I…" _Shit_. "…didn't study for. Oh damn. I'm dead. The teacher's going to fail the shit out of me."

She shrugged. "It's not that hard. It's just normal math. Algebraic expressions and all." She waggled her finger at him. "And besides, Iceland! You don't need to study." She looked annoyed now, as if giving him the 'damn-you' look would stop him from succeeding without trying. "It's just that you don't finish your classwork, do your homework, or turn in your work on time and you really piss off Mr. Jones. You're actually…good at math."

He pretended to sound offended. "You make it sound like such a revelation!"

With a small giggle, she sidled up next to him so they sat side-by-side and placed her head on his shoulder, yawning again. "Let me sleep."

Iceland glanced at the dryer that his clothes were in. He patted her head like a dog. "Begone, consciousness."

She let out a loose, exasperated laugh, and closed her eyes.

Five more minutes before his laundry was done.

* * *

Iceland was now sporting a fantastic bruise on his abdomen. Or at least, that's what it felt like. After Seychelles had delivered a haymaker into his gut, he had leaned over, gasping like a fish, and choked out, "I have to get my laundry, damn it!" Seychelles had apologized, of course, and the amused expressions of everyone else in the room stung a bit, but the tender spot still hurt like bloody _hell_. He didn't know how he sat through the math test. The pain seemed to be worse, especially when this math class was the last period of the day.

But _damn_, the math test turned out to be a fucking breeze. Why did people need to study? This was easy as hell.

Though he definitely didn't score as high as Hong Kong (_fucking perfect score, fuck you, Hong Kong, way to show me up)_, a ninety-two was pretty respectable. He could have even sworn that the teacher looked at him with marginal respect.

He left the room feeling like a god.

And he continued to feel like a god, triumphantly sporting his test score—but tucking it away into his arm so only people who really, _really_ looked could see it—down the hallway to his room. He opened his door with a giant smirk, winced inwardly at how his abdomen hurt from moving his fucking _arms_, and tossed the test onto the bed. Then he lifted his shirt up to examine it. Well, it didn't look _too bad_. Though it was starting to resemble more of a bruised sky, Iceland could appreciate the beauty. It was a bit like the northern lights. Blue, dark blue, green, _purple? _He poked at it cautiously. Yep, it hurt.

Now Iceland didn't feel so much like a god. Did gods get bruises? Did gods get beat up by their best friends? Did gods get beat up by their best friends who were _girls?_

He yanked the shirt down, looked at his test one more time, and sighed. Why the hell did he even bring it back to his dorm room?

Oh yeah. To show his brother.

But where was his brother?

Puzzled, Iceland looked around the room. He thought about Norway's disappointed gaze earlier in the day with a frown. Then he thought about Norway's smile with a grin, and immediately cheered up. He took up the test in hand and hid it under his pillow with a sneaky grin.

And then he waltzed back out the room.

* * *

The cafeteria was actually near empty after supper, thankfully. Iceland didn't feel too claustrophobic as he silently sipped at his coffee. There was no helping it. He was getting addicted to the stuff. Maybe he could nip the bud before it was too late and quit the caffeine… Or not. He needed coffee to stay awake. He needed coffee so he didn't fall asleep in class and get detentions and then fail. Although he was doing a remarkable job at failing by himself.

Iceland was still chewing on a granola bar when he decided to go back to the room, with a cup of steaming coffee in hand. The lunch lady had just handed him a cup of coffee when he had been about to walk out, with the lid on it and all, after she spotted him drinking coffee. She had said, very kindly, "There's still one cup left. Here you go." Of course, if he had more coffee, then he wouldn't be able to sleep, definitely, but who was he to refuse such a nice old lady?

And anyway…

Thinking about the fact that he hid his test under his pillow made him feel embarrassed and entertained all the same.

Norway, on his bed, lifting up his pillow…

No, scratch that.

Norway, _on his bed._

The first night was awkward. Norway held Iceland like a child. He had been on Iceland's bed then. So what of it? Iceland didn't feel extremely uncomfortable, but he was still discomfited to the point that he couldn't sleep well.

And then Norway had suggested a _room change?_

Iceland scowled and bit off a bit of the granola bar. The bar fell from his lips, and with a muffled gasp—_food was in his mouth and Norway taught him his table manners: not to let food spill from your mouth—_moved his free arm and caught it at the crook of his elbow. With a relieved sigh, he swallowed what was in his mouth and placed the granola bar back between his teeth.

Even if he couldn't sleep, if he knew that Norway was with another person in the same room, in that vulnerable state of unconsciousness, then he might as well just forget sleeping. He wouldn't even sleep in class or on the weekends. No. He would purposely make himself suffer for pushing Norway away—_that rhymed,_ Iceland thought faintly with a small laugh.

He entered the room after dropping the key. Twice.

Yawning, he stretched his arms and ran a spindly hand through his messy silver hair. "I'm home," he mumbled to no one in particular, biting off the part of the granola bar in his teeth and placing it on the desk, along with the sealed cup of coffee, next to his Calculus textbook. He took a seat right in front of the lamp on his desk and stared at it blankly. Then he placed his head on his arms, right under the lampshade, and closed his eyes.

_I'm talking to myself. Pathetic._

"Welcome home."

Iceland shot up, hit his head on the lamp, tried to catch the lamp, and succeeded. But he swore, loudly, as the back of his head throbbed with pain. "Motherfucker!" he exclaimed, placing the lamp back on table, righting the askew cover, and rubbing his head. He turned accusingly to Norway, who sat, expressionlessly innocent, at his own desk, his chair facing away from the desk, his body inclined towards Iceland. His mouth was set in a thin line, but his eyes held amusement…and…_pride?_

"Language. But congratulations," Norway said. "The teacher informed me that you got forty-six of the fifty questions right on the test."

He didn't know whether or not to feel disappointed that Norway hadn't looked under the pillow, or the fact that Norway had actually gone to the teacher and asked how Iceland was doing. _No trust. Geez. _Iceland gave him a grin. "I guess those sleepless nights were actually useful!" He picked up the cup of coffee and sipped from it.

Ah, shit. It was black coffee.

Iceland choked at the extremely bitter taste—_he didn't drink such bitter coffee, thank you very much—_and cupped his mouth, sprinting to the bathroom. There, he spat it out, washed his hands, rinsed out his mouth, and came out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a scowl on his face as he looked over to the innocuous coffee cup capering on his desk top.

An idea ran through his head like church bells in the air of a Sunday morning.

He went over to the coffee cup, picked it up, and walked over to Norway. Then, with what he hoped was a scary smile, he said innocently, "_Kaffe_, _storebror_?"

Norway's eyes widened.


	7. 6: G L A S S

**Back with an update! It's been nearly a month! (technically a month)** **So here, Iceland begins degeneration. Since it is A/U, and I've been waiting for this for a while now, I'm going to introduce the actual A/U part. **

**Iceland in depression mode! And for those who are wondering when Iceland will begin to start using drugs—well, I believe that will come next chapter, if you don't think I'm rushing through this.**

* * *

Norway shook his head and chuckled, looking Iceland straight in the eye.

Iceland felt the world sinking beneath him, felt himself soaring through a thin film of air.

Then, at that precise moment, Denmark walked in, whistling some sort of Danish lullaby as he knocked on the door and flung it open all the same. Iceland turned to him, forcing down his wicked smile and instead becoming blank-faced with lines of irritation faintly outlining his eyes. _What is he—?_

Norway glanced to Denmark almost immediately, and Iceland felt an indescribable feeling bubble up within him as resignation flooded his veins.

"Yo, Norge! Want to—" He stopped as he took in the scene before him. "…What are you two doing?"

"Drinking coffee," Iceland replied blandly. He placed the cup on Norway's desk silently and went back over to his own to do the rest of his homework. After all…if he didn't properly do it, then Norway might take matters into his own hand to try and pull Iceland's grades up for him. Although it would probably do nothing but make Iceland's grades sink lower into a cesspool of despair…

Denmark shrugged. "Sounds cool, bro." He turned to Norway. "Ned finally agreed to go drinking." Iceland assumed Ned was Netherlands. "Oh, and Prussia's coming too. Want to come?"

Iceland could feel Norway's gaze burning into the back of his head.

"Island—"

Before Norway could say anything else, Iceland turned around…

…and _smiled_.

"It's fine, Norge," he said slowly, picking up his Calculus book, his papers, pencil, and calculator all mushed between. He strode over to the door. "I'm just going to…ask Hong Kong for help on homework."

Norway gave him an unconvinced look, but turned to Denmark with a relenting sigh.

Iceland walked out of the door, the smile still on his face.

_You didn't see what was wrong…did you?_

_**Good.**_

* * *

He had left his Calculus book somewhere that he couldn't remember, after realizing that he wasn't going to see Hong Kong and that the book was extremely heavy. He was wandering aimlessly down hallways, and at last, he found himself headed towards the entrance, in the setting sun. He sat down on the front steps of the dormitory and placed his head in his hands, finally allowing the smile to drop from his face.

_**Damn**__ Denmark,_ he thought bitterly.

Not even when they were roommates…

Of course, Iceland shouldn't have tried to convince himself that they could ever be anything more…

He sighed.

And then, behind him, he heard sobbing, and it was getting nearer.

Blinking, Iceland turned around.

"Seychelles?" he said hesitantly, seeing her tear-streaked face. "What's wrong?"

"F-France…"

Oh.

Seychelles plopped down next to Iceland, her blue dress tear-stained and wrinkled where she had gripped the folds. She sighed, wiping her tears, and turned to Iceland.

"What's wrong?" she asked him, and he blinked.

"…Pardon?"

"You're smiling."

He felt his face and realized that he was smiling again. "I suppose I am," he conceded. "Studies show that if you smile at someone, they'll smile back." _Although it never seemed to work on Norway when I was a child…_ he remembered faintly, and fought the urge to curl his fingers in a fist.

Seychelles laughed, even if she was crying, and swatted at Iceland. "Let me cry. I feel horrible right now."

"I repeat. What's wrong?"

The smile slightly faltered from her face, even as Iceland stared at her, but she began to speak, at least. "F-France and Monaco… They…" She sighed. "I'm roommates with her. France came to visit and… I left the room. When I came back… I _heard_ them…"

Iceland's smile dropped from his face. "Seychelles…"

"I knew it was kind of hopeless, you know? He probably couldn't like me that way since I was more of a sister to him than Monaco was, but I couldn't stop hoping that it'd happen someday… That he'd like me—that he'd look at me at least like I was a potential love interest and not his baby sister who cockblocked him at every moment—"

He raised an eyebrow. "Cockblocked? I'm not sure baby sisters would say that."

Seychelles sighed. "Maybe that's also one of the reasons why… I tried to change for him, but it didn't work."

"You shouldn't try to change yourself. If he can't like you for who you are, then why would you like him?"

"Because…" Her voice grew quiet. "When I was still young, when he had come to the island, he helped me. He wanted to learn about my country first, before he took over it…and that was the most I could have ever asked for. Not that he just forced me to change… Even if I was…just a trading point between Asia and Africa…"

She shook her head. "Iceland, why do you love your brother?"

He felt himself stiffen. "I…"

"Don't you have a reason? It's not just unconditional familiar love that warped into something else, is it?"

Iceland gazed at her, contemplating telling her. Then he sighed, and took her hands in his. "Do this first, Seychelles. Then I'll tell you." She nodded. "I want you to concentrate on every single hurt that you feel about France."

She blinked. "…Why?"

"Please, just do it. You'll feel better in a minute."

He took note of the way that her confused, perplexed face started to shift into a hurt, hopeless expression, her lip quivering as she remembered how much it ached. And he stared to feel it, as everything draw away from her. The hurt literally faded from her face, leaving her still confused and blank-faced as well.

"Iceland, what did you just do?" she asked, shocked.

Iceland shrugged. "Just made the feelings vanish. Do you feel better?"

"Does that mean I don't—"

He wrinkled his nose, thinking about the consequences if he had taken away her love for France. Even if he cared about Seychelles, he had no intention of loving _France_… "No, you still do. It's just—now you don't feel so bad anymore. Temporarily, anyway. New emotions accumulate every day."

"Then where did they go…?"

Iceland smiled. "Who knows?"

She looked at him for a while. "You're smiling again."

"You're supposed to smile back."

"For some reason, I really don't believe that. Where did they go, Iceland? Please don't lie to me."

He sighed. "Seychelles, stop worrying. They don't even affect me that much."

"They go to _you?_"

"Where else?"

"…How did you learn how to do this?" she questioned cautiously, awed.

Iceland smiled. "I knew how to do this before I was born."

"Really?"

Seychelles shook her head. "Iceland, you really are something." She smiled. "How does it feel? Really bad?"

"I'd think that our feelings are generally the same." Truthfully, Seychelles' despair coupled the pain. Suffering the same... He forced himself to stay under control as feelings of hitting rock-bottom flooded him. "I can't really tell…"

She sighed. "Thanks, really… But you shouldn't do this to yourself… And that's really cool. How do you do it?"

"I guess I just…focus on people's feelings and try to take them away."

"You're like…the _ultimate_ therapist."

Iceland shrugged. "I suppose I am."

"Well… Iceland, why do you love your brother?"

_Back to that again? The last thing I want to think about is— _"Well...it started long before he was my brother, but I only recently realized it," Iceland answered hesitantly. _The last thing I want to remember—"_I wasn't very surprised that everything turned out so badly after telling him…"

"You're confusing me," Seychelles said, stopping him, holding her hand up to signal time-out. "When was he not your brother?"

"Back then," Iceland answered elusively.

"…Then, why weren't you surprised?"

"It's my punishment."

He refused to say anything more, even as Seychelles persisted and eventually gave up. There wasn't any way that he'd reveal everything to _anyone_. And Norway, least of all, could know. If anything slipped…his _punishment_…

"Iceland, I'm worried about you. Now that I'm not dwelling on France, I'm _extremely_ worried for you."

Maybe he should have let her keep her feelings after all. "I'm fine," he insisted, smiling.

"Stop smiling like that!"

"…Like what?"

"When you do smile, Iceland, it's _never_ like that."

* * *

"Whoa, dude. You look creepy as fuck."

"Prussia," Iceland greeted blankly.

He was wandering the hallways again, after politely excusing himself from Seychelles. She was starting to notice too much. Of course, he was bound to bump into a drunken Prussia. He recalled earlier that Denmark had gotten Prussia to come over and drink with them… Iceland forced his face to remain smooth.

_Just smile… He'll go away if you smile… Nothing's wrong._

"That smile of yours… You okay, bro?"

"There's nothing wrong with my smile."

"Not your smile, dude," Prussia slurred. "It's your eyes that don't fit."

"…My eyes?"

"They look blank. Empty. And pissed, at the same time. If that's even possible." Prussia chuckled. "You better get back to your room. It's curfew."

Iceland wordlessly trudged back to his room, mulling it over. So his smiles didn't match his eyes… It didn't matter, as long as Norway didn't pay attention.

_I wasn't surprised that everything turned out so badly after telling him…_

The memories all came tumbling back after he had confessed to Norway. Before he was a nation, before he and Norway became nations… And it was all thanks to him, wasn't it? Becoming nations. The reason why Norway went to Denmark—because of him. Of course. Everything was all Iceland's fault. He ruined everything that he had deliberately planned before this life came into the loop.

Hel just couldn't let him have what he wanted… Before everything occurred, before he had died…

Maybe he just wasn't supposed to remember his past life, but he remembered pleading…

"…_Save him, __**save him**__…"_

"_Don't let him die—I'll do __**anything**__!"_

_-Anything…? Even…receiving a penalty?-_

"_A p-penalty?"_

_A smirk, lips curling upwards in a distorted show of glee. Shadows cast down from the nose, black irises focused intently on him. He felt fear coiling like a snake in his stomach, the feeling of ice spiking in his spine._

_-A __**penalty.**__-_

Of course. Not only was his love for him forbidden and unrequited, but he had to live _forever_, to endure it _forever_.

Iceland could hide it well enough. Make it stop hurting.

Do whatever it takes to feel right again.

_Just fix the eyes._

He walked into his room, finding that Norway was peacefully asleep in his bed, and Denmark was tossing and turning, groaning with pain in his own. He felt too numb to feel angry, or even hopeless. The feelings that he had taken from Seychelles were amplifying the sound of crashing waves in his ears, muffling everything else—even the quiet breathing in the silent room—and the fact that he was already taking the aftereffects of drinking from Norway... He locked himself into the bathroom, feeling his breathing coming in sharp gasps.

_Denmark…asleep on __**his**__ bed…_

_I'm replaced. In every single life, I'm __**replaced**__._

He didn't care how loudly he slammed the bathroom door. He couldn't hear anything but his breathing, uncontrolled, erratic.

Iceland stared at himself in the mirror.

His eyes were dull. Blank. The anger was gone. He forced it away. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and then stared at the mirror again.

The blankness was replaced by something. At least it was emotion.

_Look happy. No, __**happier**__._

He began to question himself.

_Why should you be happy?_

_I was __**supposed**__ to be with him. Before we were brothers. Is this how far I can go? Is this my limit?_

He bit his lip and punched the mirror.

_My boss will have to pay for that,_ a voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

When the shards came away with his hand, his hit centered on an uprooted circle of glass, he stared at the mirror. At least it wasn't completely broken, right? Only one side was cracked, the line of a small abyss snaking upwards to the left corner of the mirror, but that was really it.

Several pieces of glass had fallen. They were big enough…

Iceland searched his eyes. Bright. Feverish. Sick.

Good enough.

He needed a reminder though. Something that could trigger that feeling.

His eyes trailed downwards, from falling glass to the pile of shards next to the sink. He picked up one shard and held it to his right wrist.

Everything hurt much more. His head was swimming with confusion, hazy, disoriented.

So when he crossed the veins in his wrist, connecting them slowly with the glass, pressing the fragment into his skin… For some reason, he felt everything vanish except for the pain that he felt shoot up his arm and down his spine.

His mind cleared, and when it did, his hand was under the water, and he felt a sharp ache at every single water droplet that touched his wrist. The water, the sink—red. Everything was so red, and he couldn't focus on anything else.

Only when he heard a knocking at the door—he quickly wiped at the sink, scrubbing away at the red, pulled at the roll of toilet paper, and pressed it over his wrist.

Then he realized the bathroom door was locked and smiled. He glanced to the mirror again. It was bright. His eyes were bright. His head was pounding, and he felt as if he had been the one drinking—_aftereffects, but so what?—_but his eyes were bright.

"Iceland?" a dreary voice came from behind the door.

His brother's voice…

_I get to suffer alone._

Iceland inhaled deeply and forced a calm voice. "Yes, Norway?"

"Are you all right?"

_Don't ask me that…!_

"Fine," he answered. "I just needed to wash my face."

"I heard shattering."

"Dropped something."

_Believe it. Believe it!_

The footfalls padded away. Iceland pressed his hand to his mouth as he let out a sigh of relief. The wad of tissue paper fell away.

_It will heal by morning…but I cut deep enough for it to form a nice scar… Visible enough only for me to see it if I know where to look…_

On his wrist, the shaky letters spelled themselves out.

_G_

_L_

_A_

_S_

_S_


	8. 7: E S C A L A T I O N

**Two updates in one day! I was feeling super-guilty, and the drug scene wasn't something I wanted to dwell on... So...enjoy? **

**M****ore about Iceland is revealed! I hope the AU hasn't scared you guys away! :)**

Oh, and _yes_. I changed the genres to romance and angst. I'm not sure what I want to do with Iceland _exactly_, **but I've got it down to a tee.**

* * *

The first thing he felt was water splashing onto his face. His head was pounding like hell, and he didn't understand what was happening. Groaning in protest, he rolled over onto his side and wiped his face. He froze when he felt pain tug at his wrist and quickly pulled his arm down as his eyes shot open. Staring right down at him was Norway, holding a cup of tap water.

Iceland blinked. Then he smiled.

_You practiced. Remember? You practiced. You can do this…_

Norway blinked back at him. "Iceland, are you all right?"

_I'm…_

Iceland shook his head.

…_Why do you think something's wrong when I smile?_

"I'm fine." He glanced down at his wrist. Maybe it wasn't as bright as it should have been… Maybe that was it. Yes. He looked back up at Norway, figuring that he would have to try again later. Giving two smiles in a short period of time would seem too suspicious…and if Iceland had to look down at his wrist again, it would seem even more suspicious. "Is Denmark still here?"

"Of course not. I kicked him out after asking him to pick the lock."

Iceland attempted to put himself into a sitting position, but his hands wouldn't follow where his mind wanted them to go. _What were they __**drinking…**__? _he wondered, feeling like Thor was pounding the insides of his eyelids unmercifully with Mjölnir. But as he stared back up at Norway's unfazed, unbothered expression, he almost sighed in relief.

Norway placed the cup back on the sink counter and walked out of the bathroom. "Get dressed. And clean up."

Iceland glanced around him for a minute, panicking. Did he leave traces? Shit.

Muffling a sigh of relief into his right wrist, right where he carved _that word_, he held on tightly to the aftereffects of drinking so Norway wouldn't feel it in the slightest. Luckily, there wasn't any blood on the floor, so he wouldn't have to overexert himself and try to scrub it off…

But if there had been blood and Norway _had_ seen it… Then what would he have done?

He would have lied.

Certainly, he would lie like a rug.

_I'll just deny it all,_ he thought to himself, unsteadily trying to stand. Seychelles' feelings had gone away, thankfully, fading from him gradually. He didn't feel as bad as he did yesterday—he didn't even feel as bad as he did a few minutes ago. But as he glanced down at his wrist again, he felt a sick, shocked repulsion flash across his mind.

On his pale skin, it still showed up—an eerie white, like snow, the word _GLASS_, running across his veins, contrasting sharply with muted blue.

The color of his brother's eyes.

He pressed his lips to his veins and exhaled shakily.

_I can get through the day._

He bent over and picked the toilet paper roll that had made its presence known all around the bathroom, and scooped it all up onto the counter, along with the glass. Iceland had washed all of the shards so they didn't have any blood on them, and even tried to clean the parts still attached to the giant mirror.

_He didn't see…_

Iceland brushed them all into the dinky little trash can by the sink, feeling glass slice into his hand again. This time, he felt the pain, without something else to trap it, and the fog over his head was only making it aching dully, which felt much worse, since it was _constant._

He forced himself to remain calm at the sight of his blood dripping down his fingertips, pooling in his nails.

He _hated _blood, especially the way that it dripped down and splattered on the floor. He was so caught up in trying to gather himself together that he didn't even notice Norway coming back in through the bathroom to check on him—and pulling him aside by the wrist and tugging him forward.

"Iceland?" his smooth, urbane voice broke through.

Iceland blinked up at his brother, feeling his shoulder press against Norway's. His mouth opened, to do something, explain himself, say _something_, but Norway shook his head. Iceland almost collapsed to the floor, staring at Norway blankly.

"I'm sorry," Iceland finally said, pulling away from Norway.

His brother sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and stooped down to open the sink drawers. Without looking at him, he said to Iceland, "Go get dressed."

With a look that rivaled the look of a person witnessing the apocalypse—shock, subdued horror, absolute despair—Iceland forced himself to walk away as his brother scooped up the pieces of glass from the floor with a small dustpan, and he closed his eyes, feeling failure wash over him.

_Try again. Try again._

* * *

"Hey, Ice!" Seychelles greeted, dragging Hong Kong along behind her. "Ready for World Literature?"

Iceland flicked her head and smiled. She stopped short for a second before regaining the same excited expression in her eyes, linking his hand with Iceland's. He squashed down the flinch that threatened to overwhelm him as hot-white pain seared through his arm. His bandaged fingers ached; the skin stretched over his wrist felt like it was being pulled apart.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm skipping."

"You slacker," Hong Kong intoned, staring at Iceland intently.

Iceland turned to Hong Kong, chuckling. "They said last week that what's being covered today is the Poetic Edda. I don't think I need to stay, since I know all of it," he elaborated, pulling his hand from Seychelles gently. He stepped back a few steps until they were a feet away from each other. "I think I might sleep."

_No, I won't._

"Have fun without me, okay? Maybe I'll just go to the cafeteria…"

_That's not where you're going._

"Why can't you just come to class with us?" Seychelles asked, pouting. But the knowing gleam in her eyes scared him. He wanted to get away from her as soon as possible. "We'll just slack off there."

Iceland shrugged. "Boring… Come get me when it's time for lunch?"

"Weren't you going to the cafeteria?" Hong Kong said slowly.

_He doesn't know too…does he? And damn it, I slipped up._

"I'll be out relaxing on the courtyard after I've eaten my late breakfast," Iceland replied, almost elusively, and turned around, walking away with his hands tucked into his pocket.

The sleeves of his shirt had, unfortunately, rolled up slightly against his elbow, and his black blazer did nothing to help. Seychelles stared after Iceland in horror as she saw exactly what was on his wrist before he shifted it out of sight unconsciously, unknowing that his two friends had seen what he had done.

* * *

He went where his instinct told him. Room 508. When he strode into the open room without even knocking, he was unsurprised to find someone else in the room next to Prussia. Prussia stood with a grin and welcomed Iceland into his room.

"Hey, Ice. Here to see the awesome me?"

"Sure I am. I see you're slacking as usual."

"As _usual?_" Prussia protested. "You haven't seen me that much to be able to tell!"

Iceland smiled, closing his eyes. "Does it look right now?"

Though he couldn't see Prussia, he heard the confusion from his tone. "What the hell are you talking about?"

_He doesn't remember yesterday…_

Iceland opened his eyes, his smile fading to blank. "Never mind."

"Came here for something?" Prussia prompted.

He shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs from the desk, shielding his eyes with his _left_ hand against the light beaming down from the window. "I had to find a place to skip class where no one could find me—"

He abruptly stopped, feeling his heart pound harshly against his ribcage, his brain doing the same thing to his skull. _What—_Norway was drinking. Mass amounts.

Iceland pressed his hand to his mouth, forcing down a groan as a wave of nausea assaulted him. Prussia watched him interestedly, shooing his other…'customer' out of the room. He walked over to Iceland with curious eyes.

"Ice, you okay?"

He wordlessly pushed Prussia away and tried to stand, tried to get out and out of the room, but Prussia pulled him back.

"Ice. Ice. Respond to my question. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Iceland forced out, along with his smile. Then he stopped short, and turned back to Prussia with a look of enlightenment on his face. "Give me a shot."

"What?" Prussia's face was blank with incomprehension.

"A fix," Iceland elaborated.

Prussia wrinkled his nose. "Kid. If I give you a fix, either Denmark is going to kill me, or your brother is going to give me a very painful death."

Iceland tugged at Prussia's hand, insisting. _Relief, relief, relief… _"Please. I won't tell anyone. Just give me the shot."

Prussia stared at Iceland for a while, considering. Iceland was staring to grow impatient. Then Prussia sighed. "Fine, kid. But only one shot."

As if in correlation to Prussia's consent, the pounding in his head was slightly mitigated. But Iceland held his breath as Prussia went over to one of his cabinets, pressed his finger into some sort of hidden catch, and pulled out a small needle. Then he handed it to Iceland.

His crimson eyes seemed to say, _do you know what to do?_

_No,_ Iceland thought wryly, but pressed the tip of the needle at his left arm. He couldn't mar his right wrist…

He felt Prussia watching him intently.

Everything faded to blank, and the last thing he felt was the feeling of Hel, swooping up right before his face, picking him up, and holding him through the air as they soared through the sky.

* * *

_**-You haven't come to see me…- **_

_I'm not dead yet. But it seems that escalating into a higher form of consciousness helps… I'm sorry._

_**-How do you like your life so far?-**_

_I hate it._

_**-…Ah.-**_

_Why did you do this to me?_

_**-Because he and you cannot be together, in any world where you are not brothers.-**_

_I don't remember all of my lives…_

_**-Of course you do not. But the one you started with…was similar to this one. The one you were cursed with was similar to this one.-**_

_Similar?_

**-**_**You were brothers.-**_

Somewhere, a thousand worlds away, mirrors shattered and shrieked, and thin ice on the surface of water cracked and snapped like breaking glass.

_I am glass…_ he mused thoughtfully.

**-**_**You inflicted a new wound on yourself?-**_

_Just to remind myself. It isn't very fair, Hel. In every single life, I am replaced by someone else. It isn't even the same person, most of the time… Why can it not be me? In a life where I was not his brother, he still loved someone else. In a world where I never met him until we were both seventeen, my purpose solely tied to him, spending those seventeen years waiting to see him again, he detested me and hated me, scorned me and rejected me because I was male. In a place where we both openly, freely admitted love…he died._

_**-Yes.-**_

_Do they really detest our relationship so much that I cannot have a single happy ending?_

_**-You speak as if you are part of a fairytale in a never-ending loop.-**_

_I'm spot on about the never-ending loop though, aren't I?_

_**-Yes.-**_

_It's time for me to go. I feel you fading._

_**-As do I…Eiríkur.**__-_

One last fading thought before he felt everything vanish before his fingertips…_ Don't call me that name._

She whispered something back to him.

And then that was it.

* * *

When he came to, he wasn't sure where he was, but he no longer felt his head pounding. He did feel heavy though, and looked around him. It dawned on him that he was in Prussia's room, and Prussia was in the bathroom. He felt the silly urge to look down at his clothing, but instead of bothering to, he sprinted out the open door, feeling his knees shake.

He flung himself into the elevator and closed the doors, despite the dread that followed when the elevator started to move upwards. He pressed a hand to his mouth and inhaled deeply, gasping. When he sprinted out onto the seventh floor hallway, he found that it was already past time for the next class…and it was time for the last period of the day.

Iceland flung his door open as soon as it was unlocked, throwing the key onto his door as everything hit him at once. Norway's intoxicating scent, coupled with it lingering on everything in the room…

He lay down, right onto Norway's bed (_damn Denmark for sleeping on his own)_, and pressed his face into Norway's pillow. Mint, mountains, and the ocean shore.

He wanted to suffocate in Norway's smell.

Smiling bitterly, digging one of his fingers into his right wrist, sharp enough to hurt, sharp enough to draw blood—uncaring that he was bleeding right over his brother's bed—he thought about Hel's words, the last words she spoke to him, and found how fitting they were.

If only he could asphyxiate in his brother's scent…

_Only he is allowed to…right?_


End file.
